As great? Merely as great? Look, I don't go around emancipating slaves on account of Abe does it much better than me. But Abe needs to stick to his President gig and leave the poetry stuff to us English majors with ironic senses of humor.

Mom says there was nothing untoward about the friendship between James Buchanan and William Rufus King. They did basically the same things any other two male friends would do: drink whiskey, play cards, and take turns having sex with goats. Nothing wrong with that, especially since the goats were always female. It would only be controversial if the goats were male.

Mom, I shan't get all political on you. You always told us the things that gentlefolk never discuss are politics, rap music, and religion -- and that they certainly never "kiss and tell."

But I must ask, Mom, what your feelings were about the double election of Chester A. Arthur? And James Buchanan. Was Buchanan really "good friends" with William Rufus King? And what about Harriet Lane? I know you know, Mom. Please tell us!

The only thing that would be good about Pence is that he at least knows how a politician should behave in public, even if he is busy goring health legislation and trying to rescind the good works of the last couple of Democratic administrations. Trump is damned dangerous.

Hi, Mom. Sorry I haven't stopped in for a few days, but the inauguration of he-whose-name-I-shall-not-utter-following-the-word-"President" has adversely affected my sense of humor. Perhaps it will return after the impeachment.

Then again, "President Pence" doesn't exactly make me want to chortle with glee.

There is a story they tell in the border lands, where Mexico joins American Counties of various diversity and intolerence. Yes Barak Obama is retired, at least they Air Forced 1 him out of town. There hasn't been a powerfully eloquent orator anything like him in 4 generations. Everyday when Fracking quakes tremble and shudder the earth beneath our feet like distant thunder there are people who remember Barak building to a thunderous finale. Fewer still remember the actual words like "Our Homes have been lost; jobs shed; businesses shuttered. Our health care is too costly; our schools fail too many; and each day brings further evidence that the ways we use energy strengthen our adversaries and threaten our planet. With eyes fixed on the horizon and God's grace upon us, we carry forth that great gift of freedom and deliver it safely to future generations.". What people actually remember is that Barak may have saved their new Camaro, Charger or Chevy Pick Up to get made after 2008. But fewer still believe it if they watch Fox News.

You see, for awhile he was the biggest man in the country and the world but he wasn't the biggest for long. Soon he couldn't get a speck of cooperation, even for things everyone desperately wanted. There were millions who trusted him right next to good ol Abe and God Almighty. Even as a seedling he had the power to bust through asphalt. Everything he pushed for he earned.

He became a lawyer and a remarkable Constitutional scholar who could have stood before the Supreme Court, but never did. Instead he selected 3 Supreme Court nominees. The one and only case he ever argued is missing from any law review, docket or literature. It's too bad because his soul was probably the only one pure enough and scandal free to dare take on the devil himself who always wins even when he loses. This is the way I have heard this story told;

There was a young man named Donald Trump, who lived at the cross roads of Forest Hills Queens. He wasn't a bad kid to start but being sly and crafty got him into trouble for lots of little things like spit balls. The more they'd sting the more fun it was. For 7th grade he was sent to a Military school Cornwall on the Hudson not for behavior problems but because his dad wanted to toughen him up and get all the silly spiritual beliefs from Mom drummed out of Donald.

It was amazing what a year of hazing can do. It teaches unswerving total denial, you learn to follow the rules and align yourself with and suck up to authority. Donald wasn't that lucky. While big for his age, in the showers his size only contrasted his unique 'hand size'` and brought ceaseless teasing from the older boys. It made Donald crawl inside himself. The isolation, not knowing how to make a bed or shine his shoes, 'the new guy' hazing grew worse every day. One desperate night he cried out for help not knowing help could in fact be bought for very little compensation. And boy oh boy did he ever compensate.

2. Van Horne calls in his yuge note 3. Twitler needs a lawyer. 4. the jury 5. the verdict 6. the end

I didn't watch the "moment" but I did watch a YT feed of a wee bit of the speech. When he started "whipping up the crowd" with the "righteous" talk stuff, I felt sick inside and had to turn it off. These are dangerous times. Dog help us all.

Be of good heart, dear comrades! For while do we suppose that we know, we truly know not and cannot. For

Too long a sacrifice Can make a stone of the heart. O when may it suffice? That is Heaven's part, our part To murmur name upon name, As a mother names her child When sleep at last has come On limbs that had run wild. What is it but nightfall? No, no, not night but death; Was it needless death after all? For England may keep faith For all that is done and said. We know their dream; enough To know they dreamed and are dead; And what if excess of love Bewildered them till they died? I write it out in a verse – MacDonagh and MacBride And Connolly and Pearse Now and in time to be, Wherever green is worn, Are changed, changed utterly: A terrible beauty is born.

Last full day of sanity in the D.C. area, tomorrow the Trump Circus is moving in. Ringling, Barnam and Bailey didn't stand a chance against the competition. What does a circus clown do when the circus closes?

Of course, it's the other, little, things that will make his new house his new home. I know that painting it black inside and out is high on the "to do" list. So is installing a larger heating plant (being used to all that warm California weather), such as the one described in this PDF.

Oh, sorry. That's for the kitchen. The new heating plant is kind of hush-hush, but it involves a toriodal plasma containment unit -- it's Amos' own design and he's quite proud of it.

Amos having people from Ft. Bragg coming to help set up the house. How he rates this is classified Tippy-Top Beyond Top Secret. Suffice to say that back in his seafaring days he obtained some very, very, very interesting photographs (including the negatives) of certain people doing certain things. As a result he has what in some circles is called "pull" in getting things accomplished.

According the photos on facebook the moving van arrived this morning, so the magic of turning an empty house into a home has begun.

Hopefully they have a supply of bandaids, neosporin, hydrogen peroxide, tweezers, and also a screwdriver (one each Philips and the regular kind), a pair of pliers, and a hammer. It would also help to have a snack area set up in the kitchen and a coffee pot at the ready. All of that stuff will be needed this week.

Bee-Dubya, real Southerners eat it all and then quietly and discreetly spit the bone into the nearest potted palm (if one is in a fine restaurant such as Rosey's Eat Here Get Gas). Should such not be immediately available it can be chewed a la Big Kick, Beech Nut, or Chattanooga Chew and disposed of in a stryofoam cup or to the pocket of your overalls via your hand. Do not attempt to conceal the bone inside your overalls by sliding it under the bib or inside your nosewipe.

Yes, the Welcome Wagon, the inducements to join the Sons of the Confederacy, changing his instrument from guitar to banjo, connecting with the local moonshiner, all sorts of things. Eventually he'll find the Winn-Dixie or the Piggly-Wiggly or the Food Lion and lay in some grits, hominy, fatback, sowbelly, cornmeal, salaratus, and black-eyed peas. Why, come the Anniversary1

Yes, generations from now, people will sit around the giant LED that looks a bit like a campfire and tell the tale of two men, a dog, a Martin guitar, and their fateful almost-but-not-quite-transcontinental journey in a pair of Toyota Priuses.

Children will shudder to hear of their bravery as they fought their way through the arid wasteland of Interstate 10, the treacherous badlands of Interstate 20, and the cholera-infested swamps of Interstate 85. And all done in vehicles that didn't even drive themselves, but were controlled by real human beings!

It would be nice if Amos checked in here, but he's using just his phone for connectivity for this trip. If he accidentally missed the little "d" and loaded the entire thread it would take most of the time to drive between three states to load, and would eat up all of his data. So perhaps he's erring on the side of preserving his phone plan.

If memory serves, Amos's plan was to spend the night in Meridian, Mississippi. By straight-line reckoning, Meridian is not far from where I live, but you can't get there from here. Well, you actually can get there from here, but you have to walk or drive a wagon pulled by a mule. There are no paved roads that point in that general direction. They all have better sense, and point toward Birmingham or Atlanta.

I am petitioning Mom to have MMario's response to my chicken pie question, "they are chicken pot pies because they are not HAND pies...." stricken from this thread. It is a 100% factual answer and, as such, contains no BS. It is, thereby, disqualified from inclusion in this, The Mother of All BS Threads.

If someone could move it to The Mother of All Never, Never Tell a Lie Threads, that'd be great.

Gawd, but Amos looks old! And yet he can't be more than what? 80? 85? But then he has led an adventurous like, hunting crocodiles bare-handed after parachuting in, landing on a glacier, fashioning a pair of skis, skiing 300 or so miles, finding a native companion (male), and eventually being rescued by his own cunning and wit just before being sacrificed by members of the local cargo cult.

No, Acme, chicken microwavable container pies are no longer part of my diet. Breakfast was scrambled eggs, grits, and sausage, all disgustingly mixed together in a bowl. Not appropriate cuisine for polite company.

But, back to the chicken pot pie thing, why are there no chicken meringue pies? Or chicken bundt cakes?

Hi, Mom! Why are chicken pies almost always called chicken pot pies? The only time they should be called "pot" pies is when they're actually cooked in pots, which is something almost nobody does. Even my grandmother didn't cook chicken pie in a pot. She bought 'em frozen in little aluminum pans and baked them in the oven. (Grandma was old-fashioned, but she weren't no damned fool.) Shouldn't they be called chicken pan pies? Heck, nowadays they don't even come in aluminum pans. They come in pan-shaped microwavable containers. Wouldn't chicken microwavable container pies be even more appropriate?

They were on the road dark and early this morning - way before dawn, but then, before dawn on a Saturday morning is an excellent time to go through or past Dallas.

The dogs were so funny - my routine here when strangers arrive is to walk up the driveway to the back gate and greet the dogs and introduce company. Especially if there is a dog with the company; that gives my dogs a look at the visitor and helps discharge the pack energy somewhat. So there was an excited bit of jumping at the gate, then in the house Zeke first met Maggie, and after a minute the other two joined in and the poor girl had three dogs all larger than her checking her vital signs and everything else. She's a trooper, and after that initial shock they roamed the house during the evening while we talked. At one point my dogs wanted to start a rumble under the dining room table, something that was going to involve running, jumping, and picking up and throwing or dropping heavy dog chew toys. (If you've ever seen a dog pick up a toy and fling it, you know that property damage sometimes results. Or human injury, depending on what was flung).

During the night every couple of hours the hall outside the bedrooms sounded like the inside of a drum because my dogs all came inspecting the closed door outside the room where Maggie was spending the night and started wagging tails against the hall table and the walls and whining to invite her to go play or perhaps howl at a few coyotes out in the back yard.